


Tell Him

by knittingpanda



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: Absolute fluff, Dawning Realization, F/M, Kissing in the Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittingpanda/pseuds/knittingpanda
Summary: After Georg storms out of the restaurant, Amalia notices a wilted rose on the ground. A realization occurs.
Relationships: Amalia Balash/Georg Nowack
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Tell Him

“Do you know what he is? He’s just a not-very-smart, not-very-handsome, not-very-young man with balding hair and the personality of a python!”

Amalia heaved her breath as she stood there looking at him, feeling her heart pound with the anger running through her. There was a thread of triumph in there as well; how satisfactory to say all the words she meant to say! Then she saw his face, and behind the frustration and offense there was a definite undercurrent of hurt. She mentally reviewed the words that had just burst out, slightly confused as to why they had made such an impact on him when he had always given back just as hard as he got in their arguments at work.

Work. Oh God. The man had just lost his job today and here she was insulting him—

“Mr. Nowack!” she called after him, realizing that he was still only a few steps away. “Mr. Nowack I didn’t mean all those things!” She was unable to refrain from the emphasis (he had been rather awful at times) and it appeared her apology wasn’t sufficient; he paused briefly on his way out the restaurant, taking something out of his coat pocket and dropping it softly on the floor before continuing on his way without a second glance back at her. She followed a few more steps behind him but gave up as she noticed the couples at the tables nearby giving her sideways glances.

Regret washed away the last vestiges of her anger as she watched him leave the restaurant, nearly slamming the door behind him in agitation. No matter how frustrating he had been to her at work, there was no excuse for kicking a dog when it was down. On the other hand, he hadn’t pulled any punches tonight either as she wallowed in misery at Dear Friend’s failure to show. Shoulders slumping, she turned to go back to her table when something on the floor caught her eye.  
It was a rose, soft and pink and more-than-slightly wilted.

Oh how sad, she thought. What a fitting representation of all my crushed romantic dreams.

She bent to pick it up and absentmindedly sat down at her table, fingering the petals as she sighed. Her mind was already back on the possible whereabouts of her Dear Friend. What on earth could have made him so late? She set the rose down on the table next to her book with its own matching rose bookmark.

Matching. Rose. Bookmark.

Sitting up straight with a gasp, Amalia’s mind suddenly launched into action—somewhat sluggish action, due to the lack of food and excess of alcohol—but action nonetheless. This rose was the same color as her rose, a color which had been decided upon between herself and Dear Friend to help them identify one another. This rose had been dropped on the ground in the restaurant. Mr. Nowack had dropped something on the ground in the restaurant. Mr. Nowack had guessed—known?—that her book was there to indicate a meetup from a Lonely Hearts’ Club. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon piece of knowledge, but suddenly it seemed highly suspicious that he had come to that exact conclusion. Was his story about the girl found in the Danube even true? Mr. Nowack had an appointment tonight after work; she vaguely remembered Ilona gossiping about it in the work room and at the time had steeled herself against any curiosity about his affairs. Curiosity now raged rampant. Had Ilona mentioned anything about the person Mr. Nowack was allegedly meeting? 

Finding no answer to that, her brain jumped back to all of their interactions this evening. When he first approached her table Mr. Nowack had been sarcastic but not totally unfriendly; clouded by her disappointment over Dear Friend (and a fair bit of wine) she had raised her hackles and responded with vitriol. I just want to talk to you Miss Balash, she can hear him saying as she herself started giving him a childish countdown. What did he want to talk about? His quick thinking over the fly-in-the-wine incident, albeit a bit dishonest, had at least avoided the scene of them both being thrown out of the restaurant and had earned a little of her respect. His laughter when the waiter assumed the two of them to be married had seemed mocking, but thinking back on the situation Amalia found herself stifling a shocked giggle. They really had been acting like a married couple. Like two people who knew each other well enough to fight over a wine bottle.

Knew each other well—oh my. If the hazy conclusions solidifying in her mind were correct, then Amalia Balash and Georg Nowack knew each other very well, indeed. Staring at the crumpled rose, Amalia finally voiced in her mind what she had been avoiding since the moment she had picked up the rose; or was it since the moment Georg himself had walked into the restaurant? Georg Nowack and Dear Friend were the same person.

But she was in love with Dear Friend, and she couldn’t be in love with Georg. She was in love with Dear Friend’s intelligence, his witty turn of phrase, his thoughtful opinions, his expressive eyes, his thick, dark, hair, and his tall, strong frame…no, no no no no. That was Georg she was thinking of (had she really called him balding? That was a whopper if she ever heard one), and she certainly wasn’t in love with Georg. Georg was mean, Georg was quick to argue, Georg was handsome and smart…  
His expressive eyes, lingering with hurt from the cruel words she had thrown at him, popped into her head, and she suddenly couldn’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Frantically grabbing her things, including the precious rose, she tossed some crumpled bills on the table and whizzed by the surprised waiter on his way back with some more wine.

“Thank you—no need—no change,” she panted inarticulately, shoving her arms into her coat and stuffing her hat onto her head. The bell on the door echoed hopefully on the gust of wind that accompanied her exit.

***

Once outside, she was immediately stumped by the fact that the street was deserted. How long had it been since he walked out the door? Had it only been two minutes? Ten? Amalia realized that she had no idea where Georg lived; that conversation had never come up at work and all she had from the letters was a P.O. Box. She vaguely recalled him coming up a certain street on his way to Mariczek’s and figured that was as good a place as any to start; pausing a moment to get her bearings, she headed off briskly in what she prayed was the right direction.

Five minutes later she was less confident. Oh, where could he have gone? Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny her the opportunity to apologize now that she finally realized the truth about Dear Friend. Turning around one more corner, she finally spotted a familiar silhouette on the other side of the street, walking slower than she might have guessed when compared to his earlier agitation. Relief nearly caused her to trip over the curb as she quickly made her across the road, and the sudden appearance of headlights elicited a double yelp—once for the proximity of the car, and once for the pile of slush she accidentally stepped into in her haste to get away from it. By the time she had recovered her wits Georg was nearly around the corner; there was nothing for it but to yell.

“Mr. Nowack!” she called down the street, her sudden volume disturbing the night air. He appeared not to have heard so she tried again, trotting a little faster in order to catch up with him. “Mr. Nowack!”

This time he definitely seemed to have heard; she saw his shoulders tense and his stride slow perceptibly before he began to walk even faster, it seemed. Oh, but he wasn’t getting away now, Amalia thought fiercely, not before I’ve had my say. “GEORG!” she yelled louder than before. A distant screech from a startled cat was heard.  
Such a display couldn’t be ignored. Mr. Nowack slowed to a complete stop, his shoulders sagging as Amalia closed the last few strides between them. Still turned away from her, his hand went up to his face swiftly. Was he… wiping away a tear? The thought made Amalia sink even deeper in her regret. What cruel words she had spoken to this man—he deserved it, she reminded herself, but the declaration felt hollow. No one deserved to be treated like that.

Mr. Nowack finally turned around to look at Amalia, huffing out a breath that became visible on the frigid air. “Miss Balash, what do you want,” he said flatly. His eyes, which refused to look up at her, were slightly red-rimmed.

“Mr. Nowack,” Amalia started, and then stopped, at a loss for words. Why hadn’t she done a little more planning in the few minutes she had been wandering the streets? Briefly regretting her lack of forethought, an apology was the first thing to come out. “Mr. Nowack, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. They were mean and cruel and completely untrue and I didn’t mean any of them. I don’t know what got into me—well, I do know, I’m maybe more than a little drunk, I probably should have eaten before I drank all that wine…come to think of it, you shouldn’t have drunk so much on an empty stomach either, no wonder you were such a rude a—oh no I’m sorry I didn’t mean that!” Distracted by her own monologue, Amalia didn’t notice the brief spark of anger in his eyes which softened into something else at her second apology.

“The point is, I mean,” Amalia continued, dragging herself on track even as part of her brain focused on the width of his chest as he stood there with his hands in his coat pockets. “The point is that I’m terribly sorry you left Mariczek’s today in such circumstances. I’m sorry that I haven’t done anything to make your life easier these past few months, and I’m sorry about the Mona Lisa tubes, and most of all I’m sorry that I say cruel things when I think that in a different situation…” Twisting her fingers together, she took a deep breath and made herself look up at him. “In a different situation we might have been friends.” She cleared her throat. “We might have been dear friends.”

The hitch in his breath was barely perceptible but Amalia heard it just the same. Suddenly feeling shy under his searching gaze, she fingered the wilted rose in her coat pocket. “Anyway, I couldn’t let you walk away without apologizing. Have a good night, Mr. Nowack.” She slowly drew the rose out and hesitantly reached forward, taking the final two steps that would bring them right next to each other. She gently placed the rose into his buttonhole, smoothing over his lapel and down his scarf when she couldn’t quite bring herself to take her hands away. He still hadn’t moved or spoken, but she could sense the nervous energy emanating from him. Feeling that same energy in the way her heart was suddenly stuttering, Amalia reach up onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss on Georg’s cheek.

Her salute seemed to spring him into action; before she could draw away from the kiss, he wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her more fully to him. The sudden release of tension (combined with the cold air, her inebriation, and the excess of emotions she had gone through in the last two hours) caused her to teeter on her heels, and she gladly found refuge in laying her head on his shoulder. The two of them stood there like that for several moments, breathing deeply in near unison, and she could feel his heart thundering as loudly as her own.

He finally cleared his throat. “Georg,” he said, surprising her just a little and she looked up at him in question. Their eyes met and he seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment, his eyes darting down to her lips. “You called me Georg earlier, and I think I would prefer that to Mr. Nowack.”

“All right, Georg it is.”

He hummed a little in response. “Miss Balash,” he began.

“Amalia.”

“Amalia,” he nodded, pronouncing it correctly this time. His eyes crinkled at the corners in response to her smile and he slowly brought his right hand up to her cheek, brushing away a wayward curl. “I too owe you an apology. No no,” he interrupted her mild protest. “I’ve behaved badly as well. I’ve been unfair to you when you’re a good worker, and you were right—I did resent you going over my head and winning that bet for Mr. Mariczek. I just hadn’t realized that my resentment was more because of how utterly irresistible I found you. The first day we met I thought, that’s the kind of girl I could fall in love with.” He had to clear his throat again, and his hand traveled down her back to settle around her waist, holding her secure.

“But then things went so badly between us. Who expects to fall in love with their worst enemy? For months I’ve been misinterpreting what I felt for you, and focusing all of my hopes and dreams on my Dear Friend. I came to the café tonight expecting to see her, and instead I found Miss Balash—as quick to engage in argument as ever. Can you blame me for needling you? More importantly, can you forgive me for it?” 

He looked so apprehensive Amalia couldn’t help but give him a reassuring smile and touch his face in return. “Of course I can forgive you. I was awful; I was so disappointed that my Dear Friend hadn’t shown up that I would have lashed out at anyone, most especially the man I considered to be the bane of my existence.” They both chuckled a little at that, settling into seriousness as they looked into each other’s eyes. “When I saw the rose you dropped it took me a few minutes to put it together. How could it possibly be true that the man I had been writing to—such glorious letters!—and the man I argued so horribly with at work could be the same person?”

Something about her response caused the light to dim a little bit in Georg’s eyes. “I’m not much of a man, I know,” he said quietly. “Not very smart, not very handsome, not very young. Balding, too, and these days I’m out of a job as well. Although I do think I have something on a python as far as personality goes." His self-deprecating chuckle didn’t quite ring true, and he sobered quickly. “I’m so afraid I’ll be a disappointment to my Dear Friend.”

Amalia couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “No! I told you I didn’t mean any of that. You are very smart, and brilliant at your job. You’re young—at least,” here she had to stop herself, her innate honesty halting her speech. “Well, I don’t actually know how old you are, but I’m sure you’re in your prime and either way it doesn’t matter to me.” His genuine chuckle encouraged her and she snaked her arms up around his neck, threading her fingers through his soft hair. She felt his answering shiver through her whole body and continued softly, “You are the handsomest man of my acquaintance. I was attracted to you when we first met—more than attracted. Over the past few months when I’ve imagined my Dear Friend he’s looked more and more like you, especially with your wonderful thick hair.” She petted the back of his head for emphasis and his eyes darkened in the reflected lamplight.

“I’d hoped she’d have your smile.”

“Your laugh.”

“The graceful way you walk around the store.”

“Mr. Nowack!” She smacked him lightly on the shoulder and looked coyly up at him through her eyelashes, leaning just a little more into him. “Have your eyes been wandering during work?”

“And if they have?” By this time their mouths were only centimeters apart, their breaths mingling in the cold winter air.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind.”

He closed the distance between them in a firm kiss, pressing them together for a few seconds before pulling back just enough to say, “So should we start over? Forget we ever hated each other?”

“No.” Amalia felt the slight sag in his shoulders and continued, “No, I think we should learn from our mistakes. Starting over would mean forgetting all we’ve shared together, in person and on paper. I say we move forward.”

Their second kiss was deeper and much, much longer. 

“Marry me?” Georg whispered after several minutes of delicious silence. He laughed at himself a little bit. “I was considering it, you know, proposing to Dear Friend even though I hadn’t met her in person. I couldn’t imagine being more in love with someone, and no matter what she looked like I knew that I wanted her in my life always.”

“I was considering it too,” Amalia stretched up to nuzzle her nose softly against his. “I could tell there was magic inside him, and that was most important…although I hoped he wouldn’t be too old.” They both chuckled and Amalia looked at him seriously. “I won’t pretend that I had any idea it could be you until tonight. It’s quite a leap for us to go from yelling at each other in a café to marriage. We hardly know each other, after all.”

She could feel the nervous tension in him. “Is it too large a leap?”

A gust of wind blew past them and Amalia was suddenly aware of how chilly it had become. Bringing her hands down from around his neck, she instead opened up his coat so she could wrap her arms around his waist and share in his warmth. He obliged by wrapping his coat more securely around her, rubbing her back when she couldn’t suppress a shiver. She settled her forehead into the crook between his neck and shoulder and breathed him in, slowly inhaling and exhaling until the tension drained from him and he rested his head against hers, only slightly hindered by both of their hats.

“No,” she said quietly, feeling peace settle into her soul. “I don’t think it’s too large a leap. Our hearts have known each other for a long time.” She shifted so she could press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I would love to marry you.”

His enthusiastic response nearly knocked her hat off—only saved by his hand which had come up to cradle her head—and succeeded in completely unseating his own. As they stood there on the street corner wrapped in each other, the snow began to lightly fall. Georg was the first to notice as the frozen flakes dropped lightly onto his bare head and he broke away with a chuckle.

“Madam, I believe I owe you dinner. May I escort you to the nearest café which still has its doors open?” He offered out his arm to her with a grin so charming she felt its warmth all the way through her. She linked her arm through his and snuggled in close, belatedly reaching up to pop his hat back onto his head when she noticed it on the ground nearby. His laugher rang out and she joined in, feeling so light and happy the cold December air couldn’t touch her. A sudden thought occurred to her.

“The folks at Mariczek’s will be so surprised. What on earth are you going to tell Mr. Sipos next time you see him?”

“Easy,” Georg smiled down at Amalia as they walked, his steps having a light bounce to them that had been missing before. “I’ll tell him, ‘She loves me.’”


End file.
